Roles
by Kat Lee formerly Pirate Turner
Summary: Clark receives a very special phone call. Future fic. Clex Slash.


Title: "Roles"  
Author: Pirate Turner  
Rating: R  
Summary: Clark receives a very special phone call. Future fic.  
Disclaimer: Lex Luthor, Clark "Superman" Kent, Lois Lane, and Smallville are & TM DC Comics and are used without permission. "Courthouse" is used without permission; was written by Chris Isaak; was published by C. Isaak Music Publishing Co. ASCAP; and is, as far as this writer can determine, & TM Chris Isaak. Everything else is & TM Pirate Turner. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction.

A groan came from the open door of the bedroom. "Clark, honey, can you come rub my neck, please?"

Clark Kent closed his eyes and forced his teeth to keep from gritting at the sound of his wife's seductive voice. He knew what she truly wanted, and his stomach churned at the thought. He didn't want to touch her, didn't want to have to lay next to her, and most especially didn't want to have to make love to her, but it was his duty as her husband. He sighed as his head hung. It wasn't Lois' fault. She was a beautiful, marvelous woman. He just didn't love . . .

Clark's thoughts were suddenly shattered by the shrill ring of the telephone. It cut through the silence like a knife, startling Clark into jumping. "Clark?" Lois whined from the bedroom.

"In a minute, sweetheart," he called back with the gentle, loving tone of voice that he had long ago adopted for his mild-mannered identity. He reached out, grabbing the phone off the nearby hook, from where he stood in the kitchen as if it were a life preserver and he a drowning man. The voice that met his ears stopped the Man of Steel dead in his tracks, made his blood run cold, and made his heart ache so terribly that any lesser a man would have keeled over on the spot.

"_You see his gentle smiling face  
Then you go, oh  
And all the good and bad you've done  
He will know, he will know_

People take their places, down at the Courthouse  
People stand in line to see you fall  
Everybody says they're in your corner  
Be surprised to find one friend at all  
And I don't care what people say  
I will always feel this way  
I don't care how long it takes  
You're not to blame, you're not to blame

Time has come to say how much I love you  
Time has come to say how much I care

And I don't care what people say  
I will always feel this way  
You're not to blame, you're not to blame"

The song stopped, but still he stood there, frozen in place with tears welling in his blue eyes. No further sound came, but he could feel the caller on the other end of the line. He closed his eyes against the turmoil that wrapped around his heart so tightly that he could scarcely breathe. He had heard this song once before. He knew what it meant, and he knew who had sent it. His hand shook, and his whole body, its skin having gone as white as a ghost the very second the song had began, trembled.

"Clark?"

He did not know how long she had been calling his name before Lois' whining voice broke through to him. Though she stood in front of him, already having taken the phone from his hand and placed it back into its cradle, he did not even look at her. He simply turned and walked away, muttering words that she barely heard. "I have to go." He walked to the window, opened it, and swept out of their apartment, leaving his wife's mouth hanging open in shock.

* * *

He flew as fast as he could, but though he flew swifter than the fastest rocket, he could not outrun the memories that filled his mind. He soared as high as he could, but though he soared higher than the tallest skyscrapers in the world, he could not ignore the emotions that clenched his heart in their death grip. There, so high above the clouds, he ceased flying and just hung in mid-air as he finally let a tear fall. The first teardrop's solitary journey down his face opened a floodgate that had been locked securely since he had been only a boy. The tears sped down his face, and for the first time, Superman did not try to stop them. For the first time, he surrendered to his emotions and let them take him over.

He remembered the first time he had heard that song. The night had been perfect, the full moon glorious in the starry sky in the empty field where Lex had first rescued him. The singer had been perfect. Lex had dressed in the finest clothes he owned, but that was not what had made him so incredibly handsome. No, it was the smile that he had gifted him with; the way his face had lit up when he had sang those words, professing the feelings that Clark had both hoped and dreaded that he would; and, most of all, the love that had shone from his deep, blue eyes that Clark still had trouble keeping from becoming lost in to this day. Lex Luthor had not smiled, not _truly_ smiled a single time since that fateful night.

The night had been perfect. The singer had been perfect. It had only been the listener who was to blame for ruining everything in that single moment, in destroying two lives, crushing two hearts, and the only hope that one of them had had for a future. He had been that listener. He had been that foolish country bumpkin who had ruined everything. He was the reason Lex Luthor was the way he was today, but only he and Lex would ever know the truth of that for although Lex had tried to kill him, he was still simultaneously protecting him. Clark knew he always would.

The world thought that Lex Luthor was incapable of loving anything except power and money. The world thought that he was pure evil. The world thought that Superman was a hero, that he could do no harm. Clark scowled darkly. The world was full of idiots. Idiots who needed him to save them. Idiots who caused him to have to live the lie he did. Superman was a facade, a mask that Clark Kent hid behind, but they would never know that. They would never know that the hero that children adored and world leaders called upon for aid was, in fact, the lowest scum of the earth unworthy of being loved by any one, let alone Lex.

Overpowering exhaustion suddenly hit him, and he let himself drop. He was so tired of living a lie. He was so tired of living a life that he did not want, that he had chosen only because he knew that it was what was expected of him, that he had chosen because he had thought it to be the right thing. He was tired of living. He dropped through the air like a deflated balloon, having no will to continue, no desire to see another day or night. He only wanted it to end.

He dropped until water skimmed his boots, and then he forced himself to lift. It did not matter that he was tired. It did not matter that every fiber of his being ached for an end to the misery that was every second of his life. It did not matter what he wanted. It never had for he had come into this world with great powers, and with those powers had come responsibility.

Responsibility to use his powers for good, no matter the cost. Responsibility to save the world whenever he was needed. Responsibility to play a role that he was sick of; to play the role that he had been dealt; to play the role of a good son to his parents, a loving husband to his wife, a hero to the world, to play the Man of Steel. He had a responsibility to the world.

He must live for that world, and that world must never know the truth behind their hero. It must never know that behind the facade of the Man of Steel lay hidden the crumpled, bleeding remains of a heart that had died long ago, long ago when a lone, foolish boy, terrified of his parents' and friends' reactions to the truth of his feelings for another boy, had turned away and had told the greatest lie his lips had ever spoken and that his ears had ever heard -- had told Lex that he did not love him.

**The End**


End file.
